


Borrowed Wings

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: F/M, M/M, POV First Person, angst. Spoilers for Teen Titans Annual and Infinite Crisis #4., character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: In the aftermath of Kon's death, Cassie is faced with some unpleasant truths.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time I met Martha Kent, I was wearing Kon's shirt.

Though four months have passed since that morning, time hasn't dulled the embarrassment attached to that memory, any more than it's numbed the pain associated with losing him.

In fact, the supposed great healer has done nothing but sharpen the memories I have of Kon. From the cocky self-assurance that first caught my eye.. . to the pained expression when he'd awoken from Luthor's control. . . to the feel of straw poking into my side the first - and last - time we made love.

The memories are bittersweet at best and agonizing at worst.  But no memory is as vivid as the one I have of cuddling beside Kon in the aftermath of our love making.  As his hands trailed protectively down my arms, he noticed my goose bumps immediately.  The February breeze had chilled my rapidly de-powering body far more than his.

*That* was why I was in his T-shirt the first time Martha Kent met me.

I suppose it's only fitting, then, that when Martha finally got around to packing up his things, she thought it proper to send this shirt.  I wonder why she waited four months.  Was she hoping for a miracle, like the one they got with Superman?  Was she hoping that against all odds Kon could have survived - that he could come back to us? Or did she wait four months because her grief wouldn't allow her to take one step into his room?

I can understand both of those.  Some days the sky is so blue and the sun is so bright, it just feels like both Kon and Bart *have* to come back.  Neither of their rooms in the Tower have been touched. Likewise, there’s more sorrow in  holding *this shirt* than should ever be attached to an article of clothing. 

It's Kon's Superboy shirt - the same plain black and red one that he wore with such pride.  It’s the same one that he wore to show acceptance of the Superman legacy while at the same time showing defiance at the pomp of Superman's costume.

Which, I suppose, is why his death is so . . . *true.* He died in one of those grand and glorious save-the-universe deaths which was so very *Superman* like of him.  But, unlike with Superman's death, the world doesn't mourn his absence.

But *we* do.  The Kents do.  The Titans do.   Part of me is angry that the world doesn't share my grief, while another part is relieved.  Losing Kon was too personal, and frankly, I don't *want* to share it with anyone else.  That - that is incredibly selfish of me.

But when you lose someone so precious and dear to you, it's okay to be selfish, isn't it? I hope so, because I can't find it in me anywhere *not* to be.   I'll just sit here, hold Kon's shirt, and wish I wasn't on monitor duty so I could run to my room and *cry.*

The Tower is quiet today. Well, it's been quiet every day since we lost Bart and Kon, but it's even quieter today, because it's just the three of us - Mia, Tim, and me.  Mia is in the gym, pretending that she needs to practice her aim.  I'm not sure where Tim is, so I use the security monitors to check.

I know that I could use his communicator, and probably find him faster.  But since Kon's death, talking . . . well, it's been difficult.  Tim has become even more closed off than before.  Arsenal told Mia not to worry about it, that type of shutting down was the Bat-response to death.  Maybe he's right, but we used to be friends, once.  We were Young Justice, and we clung to each other when times were bad.  I don't see why we can't do that *now*, when we need each other so much.

But then I do.  Because Tim is in the Hall of Heroes.  He's standing in front of Kon's statue, still so new that the mortar will chip away from the foundation if you stand too close.   But this hasn't fazed Tim at all, because he's standing toe to toe with Kon's statue.  His fingers are tracing the "S" on Kon's shirt in the exact same pattern as I've been doing with the shirt Martha Kent sent me.

I- I *shouldn't* be watching this. I don't *want* to watch this, because watching this makes me remember . . .

. . . all the secrets Kon and Tim shared.

. . . all the times I was *jealous* over the secrets they shared, without knowing exactly why.

. . . .the way Kon automatically reached for Tim's hand whenever we had to fly.

. . . the tender way Tim held Kon's head after Superboy Prime had injured him.

. . . the way Robin - always ready for battle - *wouldn't move* from Kon's side during the battle during which so many Titans lost their lives, including Bart.

. . . the look of abject panic on Robin's face when Kon wouldn't heal.

. . . the look of utter defeat on Robin's face when we lost Kon.

. . . the stoic mask that slipped into place the day we buried Kon.

. . . the utter refusal to remove his domino mask since the funeral.

. . . how happy Tim and Kon looked together.

It can't mean what I think it means, can it?  No, I'm just drawing wild conclusions completely out of context.  Which is another reason I shouldn't be watching this.  My fingers hover over the control, but I can't seem to will myself to *not watch,* any more than Tim seems capable of not stroking the "S" on Statue Kon's chest.  Besides, if I keep watching, maybe I'll see some proof that this is just Tim Drake, mourning a friend, not Tim Drake mourning. . . .something he and Kon never were to each other.

But then Tim whispers something I can't quite make out and drops his head.  His whole body just *falls* to the ground beside Kon's statue, with his arms wrapped firmly around his knees.  I only watch his shoulders shake for a minute before turning off the monitor.

I try to distract myself.  I check the rest of the security system.  I listen to the news feed.  I watch Mia hit her targets perfectly.

But my hand and my thoughts keep returning to the black and red shirt in my lap.

When it first arrived today, I knew exactly where I was going to put it.  There's a box, in the back of my bottom dresser drawer, full of mementos from people I have cared about, and lost.  I have a lot of physical reminders from Kon.  There are stubs from all the movies we snuck out to see.  There's the dried seed from some tropical flower that the show off gave me on our first date.  There's a napkin from a restaurant neither of us could afford that Kon took me to on our second date.  Finally, there's Kon's communicator, which would *never* be given to another Titan, because it was *his.*

I had every intention of folding this shirt up and placing alongside all the other items so that some day, when missing Kon was getting to be too much, I could pull out that box, unfold Kon's shirt, and *feel* him again, if only for a moment.   But that was before I witnessed Tim's breakdown.

I have so many mementos of my time with Kon. But what does Tim have?

He can't have . . . they never dated.  I know this much with certainty.  Kon and I had a long talk about his former lovers once, and I'm sure he would have mentioned if Tim had been one of them.

Why wasn’t he? Surely, it wasn't because of me. I mean, let's face it if Tim and I had ever had a "Who Does Kon Love More" competition, I'm sure I wouldn't have won.  Did they need to be confronted with evidence as blatant as the picture of Tim stroking Kon's "S"?  Did they just run out of time?  If Kon had lived, would they have ended up together?

I don't want to think about it.  I don't want to dwell on the "what might have been” between Kon and Tim. I especially don't want to think about if - or when - I would have been replaced by Tim.

I don't *want* to, but I can't seem to help it.   I also can't quite seem to push the sight of Tim's default blank expression or his shaking shoulders out of my head.

But most of all, I can't seem to stop hearing Bart's final words to us: "Take care of each other. Never forget that.  The Justice League did."

Which is why, when Mia comes to relieve me from monitoring duty, I don't go directly to my room as I planned.  Instead I stop in Tim's room, which somehow manages to feel as empty as I imagine Kon or Bart's would, if I could bear to step inside them.

Part of me doesn't want to do this.  It's not selfish to want to keep a lasting reminder of Kon, is it?  
But my box is almost full.  I have so many reminders. . . and all Tim has are memories.

Tim is the one person in the world who has hurt as much as I have because of Kon's death.  He deserves something tangible to hold on to, when the pain of losing Kon gets to be too much.  So I fold the shirt as neatly as possible and lie it on his bed before I leave.

It's all I know how to do, Bart.  There's probably another way to reach out to Tim, a better way to take care of him, but I don't know what it is.  This is the best I can do.  I hope it's enough.  



	2. Broken Wings: Tim's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim receives Cassie's gift. Also, Clark is my fav person of all time, so some of Tim’s thoughts don’t necessarily reflect mine, or even necessarily *Tim’s.* But the boy is grieving.

Tim knew the moment the package arrived. It was, after all, difficult to miss a delivery from Superman.

He remembered having complete adoration for Superman when he was a child. Tim supposed that most children did. Why wouldn't a person love the one, true savior of the planet? After all, everyone from one to one hundred knew that's what Superman was – even if they lived in Gotham, under the protection of a hero who cast a much darker shadow than Superman.

As Tim remembered the childish excitement that he used to have for the World's Favorite Superhero, he wondered if there would ever again come a time in which he could look at Superman and not feel at least a little angry.

On the days when Tim's analytical side tried to reassert itself, he reminded himself that feeling resentful towards the last tangible evidence of Kon's existence was foolish. Didn’t Dick adore him? Didn’t Bruce care for him? Most importantly of all, didn’t. . . *hadn’t* Kon worshiped him? For that matter, wasn't he Earth's greatest hero?

The answer to all of those questions was *yes,* which made Tim's disgust inappropriate. Besides, hadn't Superman grieved? Wasn't that grief still plainly spread across the Kryptonian's face?

But, the sentimental and decidedly un-analytical version of his brain argued, what right did Superman have to grieve?

Hadn't he dumped Kon on a farm Kon had hated? Hadn't he saddled Kon with a secret identity he hadn't needed? Hadn't he completely neglected the fact that Kon was his biological *son*? Hadn't he been a far worse mentor than even Batman? Wasn't it pretty pathetic when Lex Luthor was a more involved and responsible parent than The Man of Steel?

The answer to all of those questions was yes too. Not to mention the very obvious fact that the most powerful man on the planet *should have saved* Kon because *Tim couldn't.* 

But Tim knew that, in the eyes of the world, Superman had a far greater right to grieve than Robin. 

Thus, when Superman arrived with the package from Smallville, Tim hadn't bothered to meet Superman's grievous expression before leaving the monitoring room, leaving The Girlfriend and The Father alone together.

Foolishly, Tim had sought comfort from The Statue – their statue, not the gaudy gold one that stood beside Superman's in Metropolis. Predictably, perhaps, there was no comfort to be found. The statue had managed to replicate all the details without getting the whole right. All standing next to the statue had done was remind Tim of all that he had lost, and how little he had left.

Eventually he'd returned to his room and had found the contents of Superman's parcel lying on his bed.

*Kon's shirt.*

In contrast to the statue, the shirt was too warm, so much so that Tim nearly ached for the comparative coldness of the marble statue downstairs. It very clearly hadn't been washed, and Tim could smell the memories that reeked from the material.

*Robin* was trying very hard to keep the memories at bay. He'd already broken down once today and even that was unacceptable. *Robin* was on duty. Batman didn't break down on the job, neither did Nightwing. *Robin* shouldn't, either.

But then, Batman and Nightwing probably didn't wear their masks to hide the wetness in their eyes that sometimes just appeared, despite all efforts to prevent it.

Maybe Bruce and Dick were just better at their jobs than Tim was. Or maybe time had jaded them both so that they were hardened to the idea of death. Maybe that's why Dick distanced himself from the rest of the Outsiders and why Bruce distanced himself from everyone.

Part of Tim ached for the reprieve that such distance would bring. A far greater part of him, however, ached for the familiarity that his memories of Kon would bring. Majority ruled Tim's actions, and despite his unwillingness to break down again, Tim sat down on his bed and picked up Kon's shirt. From the minute Tim's fingers made contact with the material, memories came forth, unbidden and at least partially unwanted.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *remembered* the confusion he'd felt upon first meeting Kon. The cocky Superboy Robin had heard so much of actually listened fairly well and was a good team player. Regardless of what Batman had said, Superboy actually seemed to want to help people. But mostly, Tim remembered the want in the pit of his own stomach that had started that day and never left.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *saw* so many different pictures of Kon in his head that his eyes actually ached. He saw the gay pirate look Kon had sported during Young Justice. He saw the defiant jeans and T-shirt look of which Superman had so vehemently disapproved. He saw Kon and Bart playing videogames on their down time. He saw Kon sitting sprawled across the Titan couch early on a Saturday morning, trying to cram in the last few paragraphs of an overdue report before the next villain attack. But mostly, he saw Kon's naked body next to him in the shower, only fingertips away and completely out of reach.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *heard* the playfulness in Kon's voice begging for answers to the latest algebra assignment. He heard the fear in Kon's voice when they'd first discovered the Luthor secret. He heard the worry and confidence of Kon asking him for confirmation that they were friends that first day at Titans' Tower. He heard the gentle teasing of Kon complaining about holding his hand during a flight. He heard the pain of Kon's apology on the day they'd lost Bart. But mostly, Tim heard the nonchalance of Kon's final words, said before the battle that had taken his life. The promise of a extra cheese and pepperoni at Pizza Hut lodged a lump in Tim's throat that wouldn't quite move.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *smelled* empty and half empty pizza boxes littered around the Tower. He smelled the familiar scent of Kon's soap, sometimes mingled with the fruity shampoo stolen from the girl's shower room. But most of all, Tim smelled his own come, freshly expelled after yet another unfulfilled fantasy about Kon.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *tasted* the feel of his own blood on his lips from the day that Luthor had gained control and Kon had beaten him. He tasted the wind, salt, and water in the air that had always found its’ way into his mouth when they flew. But most of all, Tim tasted the pizza, soda, and vanilla that he had always imagined Kon's kisses would taste like.

When his hand touched the shirt, Tim *felt* Kon's hand sliding into his own and pulling him up into the air. He felt every touch, intentional and accidental that they had shared. He felt Kon's gentle hand on his shoulder when Tim had told him about Stephanie. He felt Kon's arms wrap around him as Tim had sobbed after loosing his father. But most of all, he felt Kon's body heat, always several degrees warmer than his own because of his Kryptonian DNA.

In vain, Tim pulled Kon's shirt closer, trying to reabsorb some of the warmth he'd lost. It didn't work, of course, but this only made Tim more determined to hold it closer to his chest. All this action did was emphasize just how cold – and alone – he really was.

God, he was *alone.* Tim didn't know how he was supposed to grieve alone. He'd certainly lost before in his time as Robin, but Kon had *always been there.*

After Stephanie's death, Kon had drug him to Hawaii. It was the very last place Tim wanted to be, but Kon had forced him to endure a Hawaiian funeral. Unlike the ones Tim was familiar with, the funeral had been a celebration of *Ohana,* the Hawaiian concept of family. Tim had taken great comfort in the celebration because it had emphasized that family didn't end with death. He'd taken even greater comfort in the feel of Kon's hand resting protectively on his shoulder.

The concept of *Ohana* hadn't brought him near enough comfort the following the loss of his father. But it hadn't needed to, because on the night following his father's funeral, when all Tim could do was lie on his bed and cry, Kon had flown to Gotham, forced open Tim's window, slid in bed behind him and *held* him. It had been a decidedly non-sexual touch, but that hadn't mattered. The touch might not have been the one of Tim's fantasies, but it *had* held Tim together when he was certain nothing else would. Barely a month later, when they had lost Bart, Kon's hand had slid into Tim's and provided the same comfort.

Since Kon’s death, others had offered their comfort – Dick, Alfred, Wonder Woman, Superman, even Bruce, which seemed oddly out of character. The rest of the Titans all walked on eggshells around him, and Tim knew that this shirt was Cassie's way of reaching out and offering comfort of some kind. But none of them were *enough,* somehow. It was *Kon's touch* that Tim needed to hold him together – to keep Robin's body from shaking despite Tim's attempts to remain composed, and to keep Robin's vision from blurring despite Tim's determination not to cry.

But Kon wasn't here, and he wasn't going to magically reappear. So, pulling the shirt as close to his chest as possible, Tim leaned back onto the bed, curled into a ball and held himself.

It was all he had left.


End file.
